Dinner For Two Pelicans
by TheOwlHawk
Summary: Phyllis and Pete go on a date at a restaurant. Pascal is the waiter. Pelly is not at the restaurant. The date might be a disaster or an amazing time for both pelicans.
January 27, 2016, Wednesday

Dinner For Two Pelicans

by TheOwlHawk

 **POINT OF VIEW OF: PHYLLIS**

 _When is he going to get here?_ I grumbled, glaring at the parking lot of the restaurant, which was almost deserted. Glancing at my watch, I began to think worse of my date. _9:45 PM_. Great. He was late. I narrowed my eyes at my watch and faced the parking lot again, waiting for a car to park.

 _One, two, three, four cars in this parking lot. Those cars have to be the waiter, two cooks, and another person. How lonely._ Lonely was going to be me if Peter didn't get here in one more minute.

At 9:46 PM, no car showed up. _Ridiculous._ Just as I thought. No Peter, no date. I was fed up with waiting since 9:30 PM on this rusty green bench outside the restaurant by the name of Bridgewood's Best Diner. What a dumb name.

"Hey! Phyllis!" a voice called from somewhere above. I looked up, obviously, because that's what people do when you hear something from above you. Peter was in his green tuxedo with white cuffs and white dress shoes, in a hot-air balloon on the roof of the restaurant.

"What in the name of my butt are you doing?!" I yelled without thinking. What the fudge did I just say?

"Getting here, silly." Peter called back, jumping down from the roof of the building.

"In a hot-air balloon?! What is wrong with you?! You had me waiting for 16 minutes!" I was angry with him for not telling me sooner, but I supposed this must be a surprise.

"I can't fly like a bird, Phyllis, and hot-air balloons are slow, you know!" he answered, landing on the ground as if he were a cat.

"So where did you get the balloon?" I asked him as we walked towards the restaurant's doors.

"I own it." Pete gave me a cheerful smile.

Our eyes met and I glanced away nervously. We finally arrived to the restaurant's doors and entered the building. There was a waiter at the front counter who had a black apron on and a red bowtie, along with a white shirt and pants underneath the apron. He had shaggy brown hair and light brown eyes.

"What can I do for you, man?" the waiter asked us in a surfer-dude style.

"Uhm, one table for two, please," I told him, feeling awkward because of the way the waiter spoke.

"Sure, man. One table for the two lovebirds coming up," replied the waiter.

He led us to a table that had two chairs and had white tablecloth on it with a set of silverware wrapped up in a napkin. Pete and I sat down at the table together. I felt better that the weird waiter was gone.

"So, uh, Pete, what do you, uhm, do for a living?" I asked my date.

Pete's eyes lit up as he answered the question. "I deliver mail to neighborhoods!"

I was shocked. He delivered _mail_? What kind of a job was that? More importantly, how did he afford the hot-air balloon and green tuxedo?

"What do you do, Phyllis?" Pete asked me.

"I, uh, work at the post office." I realized how stupid I was for thinking badly of his job.

"Wait, don't you live in this town?" Pete asked another question.

"Uhm, yeah. I do." I looked down at the table in embarassment.

"We work at the same post office then!" Pete exclaimed in amazement.

"I guess we do, don't we?" I mumbled.

Just then, the waiter came back with a notepad to take our drink orders.

"I'll have a glass of cranberry juice." Pete told the waiter.

Cranberry juice? At a restaurant? You have to be kidding me. I wanted to leave this date as soon as I could just to get away from Pete, who just ordered cranberry juice at a fancy restaurant.

"And what will you have, man?" the waiter asked me.

"Uh, gee, uhm...I would like to have some lemon water." I answered. Pete looked shocked at my answer. _Guess that makes two of us_ , I thought.

"Okay, man, I'll get those drinks. Don't leave, man." the waiter said before he walked away to the kitchen.

"Do you like working at the post office?" Pete gave me another question.

"No!" I yelled a bit too loudly. Other people looked at me in confusion.

"I'm sorry. I have to leave." I said nervously, leaving the table and Pete behind without a word.

* * *

 **Pete's POV**

The hot-air balloon drifted in the air towards the restaurant. Phyllis was waiting for me.

I finally reached the restaurant. There was Phyllis.

"Hey! Phyllis!" I called to her.

Phyllis looked shocked when I showed up with the balloon.

"What in the name of my butt are you doing?" Phyllis yelled at me. I was hurt at her words, but shrugged it off.

"Getting here, silly!" I called back to her, getting off of the roof of the building I had landed on.

"In a hot-air balloon?! What is wrong with you?! You had me waiting for 16 minutes!" Phyllis kept yelling at me. Man, did she need some attitude lessons.

"I can't fly like a bird, Phyllis, and hot-air balloons are slow, you know!" I answered, meaning to be angry. I landed on the ground.

"So where did you get the balloon?" Phyllis asked me when we started walking to the restaurant's doors.

"I own it." I answered, giving her my best smile.

We looked at each other for a brief moment, then she turned away.

Finally, we were at the restaurant.

"What can I do for you, man?" the waiter asked us. Pascal, I knew, was a waiter here, but only because I delivered his mail to his house. I decided not to mention his name, though.

"Uhm, one table for two, please." Phyllis replied to Pascal.

"Sure, man. One table for the two lovebirds coming up," Pascal answered in his funny way of speaking.

We went to a table and sat down. Pascal left and Phyllis and I were alone at the table.

"So, uh, Pete, what do you do for a living?" Phyllis asked me.

"I deliver mail to neighborhoods." I responded, my eyes brightening at my fun career.

"What do you do, Phyllis?" I asked her after I noticed that she looked shocked at my answer.

"I, uh, work at the post office," Phyllis looked down at the table, possibly from embarassment.

"Wait, don't you live in this town?" I gave another question.

"Uhm, yeah, I do." Phyllis said.

"We work at the same post office then!" I exclaimed in joy.

Phyllis mumbled something, but just then, Pascal came back with a notepad.

"I'll have a glass of cranberry juice." I ordered my drink.

"And what will you have, man?" Pascal turned to Phyllis, who looked shocked at my answer again.

"Um, gee, uhm...I would like to have some lemon water." Phyllis answered.

"Okay, man, I'll get those drinks. Don't leave, man." Pascal left us and I asked Phyllis another question.

"Do you like working at the post office?" I asked her.

"No!" she yelled.

People glared at us and Phyllis excused herself to leave the table.

"I'm sorry. I have to leave." she said before leaving.

I wanted to chase after her, but Pascal was back with our drinks, awkwardly looking at me and the door.

"Where'd your date go, man?" he asked me. I just glanced at him in sorrow.


End file.
